


Told Me That You'd Wait Forever

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Endgame Pimms, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Reunions, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: Jack married Kent the summer before the draft. Now, almost five years later, he's officially divorcing Kent as proof of his devotion to Bitty, and he's forced to travel to Montreal alongside Kent to officially resolve the process.But the more time he spends with Kent, the more old feelings and memories surface, and the closer they get to Montreal, Jack is forced to question if divorcing Kent is what he truly wants.





	Told Me That You'd Wait Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [resident_longwinded_anon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resident_longwinded_anon/gifts).



Kent and Jack had married shortly before the draft. It had been arranged by Hockey Canada back when they were in Juniors, when it became clear that both Jack and Kent had the talent and drive to go into the NHL. For a legacy Canadian player like Jack to get permission to play professionally in the US, he and his family needed to demonstrate their support to Kent, the other top player in their age group. Since Kent came from a worthless, impoverished family, as Jack explained to Bitty, the board of Hockey Canada had decided that it was the Zimmermanns’ duty to sponsor Kent until he graduated from Juniors, and that it was then Jack’s responsibility to marry him once they did.

“So the marriage was supposed to benefit us both,” Jack explained to Bitty as he double-checked that he had everything he needed in his overnight bag. “He got access to all kinds of equipment he couldn’t afford, media training and professional advice from my dad, and I got permission to play in the US.”

Kent had been asking Jack for a divorce since Jack was a freshman in college. Jack had never responded to any of his questions about it, even when he begged, even when Bob and Alicia had told him that he needed to give Kent some kind of acknowledgement. Last year, Kent had given up on asking. Last week, Jack had been the one to ask him. He was doing it for Bitty, to prove to him that he was serious about their relationship and really wanted for them to be together. And now Kent, at Jack’s request, was here at the Haus, waiting to make the drive with him.

“But why do you have to go away with him?” Bitty protested as he set down an orange-cranberry pie to cool, the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting through the air. “Are you sure it’s unavoidable? The long drive, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t be going if it wasn’t unavoidable,” Jack informed him, feeling a slight prick of impatience. Couldn’t Bitty see that he wanted this divorce just as much as Bitty did? Couldn’t he see that Jack was divorcing Kent for him? “We both have to go back to the Hockey Canada office where the officials first oversaw the agreement. Both of us going there to agree to end it without contesting it is the only way we can divorce that still allows me to play in the NHL.”

Bitty wrung his hands. “I just don’t like the idea of you going so far away.” He shot a icy glare at Kent, who was poking unenthusiastically at a piece of spiced pear pie, but quickly wiped the expression from his face the moment Kent turned his head in his direction. “And it’s not that I think that Kent would be less than charming company. Bless his heart,  _ of course _ it’s not that.”

Kent merely looked at Bitty disdainfully. “It’s a six hour drive to the Montreal office, Bittle. It’s not that far. He’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Not if we don’t get going,” Jack informed him, irritated. He glanced at the clock. “We’re wasting time. When were you planning on leaving?”

Kent’s mouth tightened as he looked at Jack, but he just gave a firm nod and grabbed his snapback, jamming it frontwards on his head. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Jack moved to walk out the Haus’s front door, but Bitty stopped Kent before he could follow suit.

“Wait!” Bitty exclaimed, grabbing Kent by the arm and ignoring Kent’s withering “Get  _ off  _ of me.” “What did you think of the pie?”

Evidently, his low opinion of Kent did not stop him from trying to still coax compliments out of  him.

Kent yanked his arm out of Bitty’s grip and sent him a glance that was too apathetic to truly be contemptuous. “I’ve had better.” He ignored Bitty’s horrified gasp. “The crust was too dry.”

With that, he walked out the door, shouldering past Jack without a backwards glance.

* * *

The car was a rental, a sleek but nondescript black Audi. Kent was driving. Jack hated to drive for long car rides and only did it when he had to. He had driven to Montreal and back several times for university breaks, though.

“I usually take the I-95, take that to I-93, and then get on the I-89 just before Concord,” he told Kent as they left the Samwell campus.

“So noted,” Kent replied coolly. 

Jack glanced at him, wondering what kind of mood he was in. Kent noticed his glance and grabbed a pair of Oakley wraparounds from where he’d left them in the cupholder, sliding them on without a word.

What he was supposed to think about that, Jack had no idea, so he decided to ask.

“You’re not going to get overly emotional about this, are you?” he asked frankly. “Because I was hoping that at this point, we’d both have the maturity—”

“Jack, you do not want to lecture me on maturity and emotions right now. Not when I’m doing this with you,  _ for _ you,” Kent snapped.

So he  _ was _ getting overly emotional. Jack didn’t want to have to deal with that. He’d already had to deal with comforting a crying Bitty when he’d first explained to him last night that he had married Kent almost five years ago (hence the divorce now). When would  _ he _ get a break? When would the world stop demanding he be a shoulder for everyone to cry on? Wasn’t helping Bitty enough?

But evidently it wasn’t, Jack thought, scowling as their Audi crawled to a stop, stuck in the typical traffic of the Boston area. Because here he was, trapped in the car with Kent.

A silence settled between them, and while Jack typically didn’t mind the quiet, now it felt weirdly heavy and draining. He was left with this twitchy, restless feeling because of it.

Trying to find something to concentrate on, Jack switched on the radio and began flipping through the stations until he found a song he liked: “Take On Me” by A-ha. He actually hadn’t cared for the song until he’d saw a special about the making of the music video and the detail that had gone into it. It had given him a new appreciation of the melody and lyrics.

When that song ended, another one came on, one he had no interest in. Jack went to change the station to find something else that he was more interested in.

But instantly, Kent’s hand snapped out to stop him.

“Don’t,” he said flatly. “Leave it.”

Jack obeyed, leaning back in his seat, and the lyrics of “Summer of ’69” filled the car. Dimly, he recalled that Kent had liked the song even back when they were in Juniors and had once told him so, and he felt quite proud of himself for being able to remember that.

The silence felt stifling, so Jack decided to offer that topic as a neutral conversation piece.

“You like this song, don’t you?” he asked. “I remember that you did, even back when we were kids.”

Turning his head slowly, Kent stared at him for several long moment from behind his dark sunglasses, and then turned back to staring at the unmoving beige Honda in front of them.

Somewhat miffed that he was the only one of the two of them trying to act like an adult, Jack decided not to let Kent get away with his sulking. “What’s your problem?”

Kent reached out and switched the radio off. For several seconds, he didn’t respond. 

Jack stared him down, waiting for an explanation.

“It was our song,” Kent grated out finally, his voice weary. 

Jack continued to stare at him, wondering what he was talking about.

Kent noticed his gaze. “Our  _ song _ , Jack,” he repeated, irritation creeping into his voice. “The one you and I chose when we were together.”

The statement left Jack blinking, and his mind whirled as he tried to place what Kent was saying. 

“We had a song?” he asked, stunned.

Kent just made a disgusted noise and turned back to watching the traffic. 

But the more Jack thought about it, the more sensations and memories raced to the front of his mind: himself and and Kent going to his family’s lake house right before the draft, cool water sliding all over them as they pressed together and kissed fervently, the sun warming their backs as they lay on the docks, listening to Jack’s stereo . . .

_ “I love this song,” Kent had murmured sleepily as “Summer of ’69” began to play.  _

_ “You do?” Jack had asked, grinning at him. “It can be our song, then.” _

“We had a song,” Jack realized.

“Yes,” Kent said coolly. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes, we did.”

Traffic finally cleared a little bit, letting them get moving again, but now the only noise in the car was the tires rolling on the pavement.

* * *

It was about an hour and a half in that Kent decided to stop for gas. He pulled into one of those big rest stops, the kind with a gas station and tourist center attached to a food court full of various chain restaurants.

“Mind going inside and paying for me?” Kent asked, handing him a couple of twenties. “Pump fifteen, premium.”

“You’re using premium on a rental car?” Jack asked dubiously.

“I’m using premium because I don’t want to have to keep on stopping and refueling,” Kent told him. “Are you gonna go and pay, or what?”

Jack did, but only because he knew the sooner Kent filled up the tank, the sooner they could get to the Montreal office. After paying at the gas station register, he wandered over the magazine section to browse, hoping he could find something to distract himself during the uncomfortable car ride. Kent passed by him on his way to the men’s room, not even sparing him a glance as he did.

“I’m getting food after, so I’ll be a few minutes,” Kent informed him, barely slowing down to speak and not waiting for Jack’s answer.

A few minutes afterward, just as Jack had eventually decided to go with both  _ National Geographic _ and  _ Time _ , a family gathered near the closest exit, a young mother and father with two kids who looked maybe five or six. Jack might not have noticed them if the kids hadn’t been dancing around excitedly, shimmying and hopping in place, their tiny worn sneakers squeaking on the floor. They were obviously excited to be out of the car.

“Settle down, ya clowns,” the mother told the kids, her tone fond but warning. She then went back to consulting with the father on a paper map; why she wasn’t simply using her smartphone, Jack had no idea. Who even used paper maps anymore? Come on, it was the digital age.

The children obeyed their mother at first, standing quietly for maybe a full ten seconds, but then they spotted a spiral wishing well a few paces away and raced over it.

“Mom, Dad, could we have a few pennies? Please?” the little boy begged.

“Please, please, please?” the little girl added.

“Not today,” the father told his kids gently. “Maybe another time.”

Kent rejoined Jack then, carrying a large bag from Panera and another smaller one from McDonald’s. He was wearing his snapback, but his sunglasses were hooked on the collar of his T-shirt. For the first time, Jack noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. “You ready?”

“I was waiting on you,” Jack informed him, a bit miffed, and his voice showed it.

But Kent wasn’t paying him any attention, because he spotted the kids begging their parents for money for the wishing well, and something went soft in his face when he did.

“Hold these,” he said, shoving the bags of food into Jack’s arms, and then he made his way over to the kids.

“Hey guys,” Kent said, walking over to them with a large smile. He looked at the parents, too, nodding a greeting at them, and kept his posture open, the picture of nonthreatening. “You want some money so you can watch it spin around in circles?”

Suddenly growing shy at being approached by a stranger, the two kids only nodded mutely, looking at Kent with wide, hopeful eyes.

Kent reached into his jeans pocket before extracting a closed fist. “Hold out your hands,” he instructed.

The little boy was the only one who did so, spreading out his palms, and Jack thought it looked like he was receiving Communion. But instead of giving him the Body of Christ, Kent deposited a pile of gleaming coins into his waiting hands.

Suddenly, the change in Jack’s pocket from paying for gas earlier felt like it was burning a hole in his jeans.

“Be sure to share that with your sister,” Kent told the boy, nodding at the little girl. He then glanced at the parents, with that relaxed type of friendliness that always made everyone both like him and want to cluster around him. “Hey, folks. You have a good one.”

“Say ‘thank you’,” the mother reminded the children. She looked up at Kent gratefully. “That was very kind. Thank you.”

“Thank you!” the children chorused with delighted grins, rushing over to start watching the coins spin and fall into the funnel of the well.

The father thanked Kent as well, but Kent just brushed it off with a chuckle. 

“Take care,” he told them, and started toward the exit, motioning Jack to follow him. And Jack did, leaving behind his magazines.

A strange feeling sat heavy in Jack’s stomach as he climbed back into the car. Kent had always been good with people. Years ago, when they were in Juniors together, he’d always been so good at charming them and winning them over when it didn’t even occur to Jack to try. And normally it wouldn’t bother him—he’d adjusted to the idea that most people didn’t understand him and that he didn’t really want to try understanding them. But somehow, with Kent here . . . understanding people suddenly seemed a lot more important. Like it was something he wanted to try. Like it was something he maybe should try, he thought, recalling how happy those kids were just to have a bunch of pennies and nickels that they were just going to immediately give away.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked Kent as he reached to start the engine.

“What?” Kent paused, quirking an eyebrow at him, the look in his eyes skeptical.

His eyes were green, Jack realized, almost startled. He always remembered them as blue. And they did have blue flecks in them, but they were more of a pale green than a blue.

But that wasn’t important now.

“Those people,” Jack tried to explain. “With the kids. Why . . .”

But the question wasn’t  _ why. _ It was  _ how.  _ How did Kent so easily go up to perfect strangers and give something to them? How did he cope with the uncertainty of it, of reaching out to people he didn’t even know? How did it occur to him? 

If there was a  _ why _ question, it was _ Why didn’t it occur to Jack to do the same?  _

Kent seemed to find the question trying. “Look, I like helping people, okay? Christ knows I tried to help you often enough. I know you and your itty-bitty boyfriend are convinced I’m Satan incarnate, but I’m not. I just had the bad luck to stuck with you.” He started the engine and began backing out.

_ That’s not what I meant, _ Jack wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to explain it all. He wasn’t good at explaining things, especially not to Kenny. 

So he just tried to give him the bags of food that he was still holding. “Here you are.”

Kent grabbed the Panera bag and plunked it on the divider between their seats. “The McDonald’s is for you. I figured you might want a snack. Chicken nuggets. I got you the twenty size.”

Jack looked at the bag of food, then at Kent, who wasn’t looking back at him. 

Kenny was good with people. Even now, when he was taking a road trip with Jack to officially divorce him, he was thinking of him. He bought him food just because he thought it was nice.

Jack didn’t think of people. Not like that.

“Thanks,” he said to Kent, and even though it was only chicken nuggets, it didn’t seem like that word was enough.

Kent still didn’t look at him. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

Right in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Vermont, a noise like a gunshot echoed from right beneath Jack’s feet, and abruptly the ride became much bumpier. Jack let out a curse as the sudden jostling brought him to bite down hard on his own tongue.

“Must have blown out a tire,” Kent observed calmly, pulling to the side of the road.

“We’ll have call Triple AAA,” Jack declared, his speech muffled slightly. Dammit, his tongue was still smarting. He glanced anxiously at the clock. “I wonder how long they’ll take to get here.”

Kent sent him a scathing look. “Fuck’s sake, Zimms. You’re a damn twenty-four-year-old man, and you don’t know how to change a tire?”

Jack immediately felt defensive. “You don’t know, either,” he couldn’t help but feel compelled to point out.

Kent snorted. “Please. I’ve been changing tires since I was twelve, and I made sure this car came with a jack and a spare before I left the rental office. You wait here.”

Something about what Kent said didn’t seem right to Jack, but he accepted it nonetheless as Kent stepped out to open up the trunk and retrieve the equipment. Bored, Jack found himself staring out the window at a long-abandoned barn a few hundred yards away. It was a ramshackle relic from another time, with ivy spilling out of the cracks in the roof, red paint almost entirely chipped away to reveal the rotting wood underneath, and an ajar door that was falling off its hinges.

And yet, as Jack gazed at it, a vague memory stirred in his mind. He couldn’t quite grasp it at first, and it drifted in and out of his thoughts for several moments until it finally unfolded in his mind’s eye. Himself and Kent, when they were in Juniors and already together, getting stranded on their way driving home and being forced to wait for a mechanic to come out and help them.

_ “Definitely a flat,” Jack said, pushing himself up from where he’d been kneeling on the asphalt, checking their tire. “Gonna have to call someone to come out here and change it.” He glanced around. “Not a whole lot nearby. It’ll probably take forty minutes, maybe an hour.” _

_ Kent laughed, looping his arms around Jack’s waist and pressing warm lips into his neck. “We could do a lot of things in forty minutes. Even more in an hour.” _

_ Jack tilted his head back and let out a groan at Kent’s soft touches. “Stop it. Get me my phone, I have to call for a truck.” _

_ With a grin, Kent passed him his phone. “Make the call. And then join me in the backseat.” _

_ Jack was in such a rush to get off the phone that he barely remembered to tell the agency where they were. _

The memory left Jack so stunned that he barely noticed Kent working on the tire below his feet, just on the other side of the car door. His only observation was that Kent made short work of the tire switch—it seemed like what he said about changing them for years was true.

Jack wasn’t sure what to think.

It was only after a few minutes that Kent closed the trunk and then climbed back into the driver’s side again.

“All good,” he said, not looking at at Jack, instead checking his side and rear view mirrors to make sure he could merge safely back out onto the road. 

He could; not a single car had passed them the whole time they were on the road’s shoulder.

Just him and Kent all alone out there. 

Just like back in Juniors.

The countryside whizzing by in a blur, and suddenly the trip that seemed agonizingly long seemed to be passing too quickly for Jack to hold onto, and before Jack knew it, they were coming through customs. Kent slowed the Audi to a halt as they joined the line of cars, finding themselves waiting in traffic once again.

“Kent.” The name felt awkward on Jack’s tongue.

Kent glanced over at him. “Yeah?”

Jack wasn’t sure what to say and found himself looking out the window, unwilling to follow through on the conversation he’d been trying to start.

“Yeah?” Kent prompted him again, his voice more impatient this time.

Jack turned back to Kent and looked at him. Noticed the shadows under his eyes, noticed the tight grip he had on the steering wheel, noticed the tension in his shoulders.

He was holding himself differently than he usually did, Jack realized. Even after years apart, he knew Kent’s posture. Knew how he sat and moved and stood normally versus after an injury. And right now, he was holding himself like he was injured.

Kent really, truly didn’t want to be here.

And Jack found himself wondering why Kent even was here, then.

“Why’d you lie?” he asked finally.

Kent scoffed. “What?” He looked at Jack incredulously, his face confused and wary. “What the hell are you talking about? What am I supposed to have been lying about?”

“Back in Juniors,” Jack said. That didn’t seem like a good explanation—Kent was still looking at him with that skeptical expression—so he tried again. “That time we were in Juniors and got a flat. We stranded out in the middle of nowhere for an hour.”

Letting out a sigh, Kent rubbed at his face with both hands. “Oh, that.”

“We wouldn’t have had to wait out there,” Jack reminded him. Did Kent really not know that? “Were you just . . . trying to mess with me? Why didn’t you just change the tire?” He couldn’t think of another reason.

“No.” Kent practically bit out the word. “No, I wasn’t trying to ‘mess with you.’ ” Anger was plain on his face. “See, I don’t know why you’re always making me out to be some kind of manipulative, scheming freak. I just wanted to spend time with you back then. I wanted some more time alone with you, when we could just be together without needing to worry about hockey, so I pretended to be some dumbass incapable of changing a tire. That’s all.”

“I . . .” Jack stared at Kent, trying to make sure he understood what he was saying. “You acted like you couldn’t change a tire . . . for me?”

A very deep, aggrieved sigh gusted out of Kent’s mouth. “Not ‘for’ you. Just . . . I wanted to be around you more, for us to have some time for ourselves.” He let go of the steering wheel to spread his hands, turning to face Jack fully. “That’s all.” And yet, when he spoke, the look in his eyes was flinty.

Jack wanted to respond. Wanted to say something to Kent, about what Kent had done. But he wasn’t sure what he should say. Thank him for caring about him then? Thank him for changing the tire now? The new information about Kent made it difficult to think useful to reply with, and nothing he thought of seemed right, and none of the words ready to leave his tongue seemed like they would work. Thus, Jack was reduced to sitting quietly, going back of what he had learned from Kent, what he had observed about him, and wondering what it all meant.

Eventually they reached the customs window, handing over their IDs and passports.

As Kent reached into his wallet to take out his license, Jack’s eyes fell to his fingers as they rifled through the contents. And he noticed that when Kent located his ID and went to pull it out, he also dragged out something else along with it: that strip of photo booth snapshots he had taken with Jack all those years ago, the ones where he’d been sitting in Jack’s lap. The ones they’d taken when they’d still been together, just before they’d been married.

Years later. It was years later, and Kent still carried them with him. He hadn’t boxed them up or thrown them out.

Years later, Kent still had the photographs. Years later, Kent remembered their song when Jack had forgotten they’d even had one. Years later, Kent still remembered how much Jack liked chicken nuggets. And years ago, Kent had pretended to be unable to change a tire just to catch a few extra minutes with Jack.

What did it mean? What did it all mean? It had to mean  _ something _ .

He should find out what. The uncertainty of it already had his stomach churning.

“Kent, uh . . .” Jack tried to guess how Kent would react to the question, especially now that they were on a road with heavy traffic again. “Do you want this divorce?”

He was expecting another sarcastic or irritated reply, but what he got instead was several moments of silence before Kent finally spared him a glance.

“What do you think?” he answered at last, his voice weary. His green—not blue—eyes were dull.

Jack was puzzled. “You wanted this divorce, didn’t you? I mean, you kept asking for one.”

Something on Kent’s face shifted, and he ripped his gaze away from Jack to stare straight ahead. When he spoke, his voice was hollow.

“I asked you for a divorce because you spent the first year of our marriage refusing to speak with me,” Kent said, speaking slowly and clearly. “You didn’t take my calls. You didn’t speak to me when I showed up in person.”

“I wasn’t ready to see you,” Jack tried to tell him. “It was just . . . it was hard for me.”

Kent turned and stared at him then like he’d never laid eyes on him before in his life. His gaze raked up and down and all across Jack’s face, as it were some unfamiliar map he were trying to memorize.

“It was hard for me, too,” he replied, his voice so low Jack had to struggle to hear him. “It was hard for me to find my husband after he overdosed. After we’d married just a month beforehand. It was hard for me to deal with you refusing to even speak to me. For a year. That’s why I  _ begged  _ you for a divorce. That’s why I begged your fucking parents to beg you for a divorce  _ for me. _ Because it was hard to deal with everything that had happened, and then you made no attempt to see me or talk to me about our marriage for motherfucking  _ years _ afterward. And then when you finally do agree to a divorce, after literal  _ years _ of me asking you for it, it’s not for me or for you. No, it’s so you can prove something to your human-sized Kewpie doll of a boyfriend.”

Jack was silent for a moment before responding. “I never thought about it.”

There was a slight pause.

“Go on,” Kent urged him, his voice too defeated to truly be called encouraging.

Jack wasn’t sure how Kent would react to what he had to say, but decided to go through with it anyway. 

“That you would be the one who found me,” he explained. “After the OD. I never really thought about who would find me. Didn’t figure it would be you.”

Kent snorted, shaking his head in contemptuous disbelief. “Yeah, I mean, why would it have been me? I mean, I was only  _ your husband _ . I shared a bedroom and a bed with you. Why would I have been the one to find you on the floor of our shared bathroom?” 

When Kent put it like that it seemed so obvious. When Kent put it like that, it seemed so clear that what Jack had done had hurt him. 

He’d never really thought about Kent being hurt by it. He’d thought about his parents; he’d seen the pain on their faces at the hospital, when they’d visited him in rehab. But Kent hadn’t been there. He’d already been whisked off Vegas and then to the farm before being sent off to Vegas again.

Jack had thought he’d been the only one of the two of them who’d been hurting, who’d been struggling. But he’d been wrong.

He’d been so wrong about everything. Wrong about Kent, wrong when he’d thought Kent wanted the divorce, wrong when he’d thought Kent wasn’t in love with him anymore.

And now he couldn’t help but wonder what else he was wrong about. Was Jack wrong to be getting the divorce?

Once the thought occurred to him, it wouldn’t stop beating against his brain, like a hockey puck continuously ricocheting off the goalposts. Was he wrong? Was he? Was he?

He didn’t know, and the uncertainty of it had him panicking.

While Jack didn’t realize his breathing had picked up, Kent must have noticed, because he sent him a sharp look.

“Hey,” he said urgently, looking back and forth between Jack and the road of heavy traffic before them. “You all right?”

Closing his eyes, Jack tried to control his breathing, but to no avail.

“You have to pull over,” he told Kent weakly. “I’m really not feeling well.”

* * *

The rest stop was similar to the one from before, just significantly more touristy since it was so close to the border. The Maple Leaf was draped practically everywhere, and in any place where they weren’t, there were murals and statues of mooses and Mounties.  

When Jack came from the vending machines, pressing his water bottle against his head and trying to relaxing at the cooling sensation, he found Kent with kids again, winning a little girl a toy from the claw machine. Her presumed parents and sister were raptly observing right beside him, cheering for him, all looking impressed by Kent’s skill. The sister, who was maybe a year younger, was already holding a sequined teddy bear similar to ones that were still inside the machine; Jack had no doubt Kent had won it for her. And as Jack watched, he successfully won this stuffed animal, too. It was one of those Pokemon creatures, the yellow kind with the red circles on its face and the zigzag tail.

That was the thing about Kent. He could get people, even complete strangers, to cheer for him and root for him even when it wasn’t about hockey. It really wasn’t something that ever happened to Jack.

He waited till Kent had given the girl her toy and sent the family on their way before approaching him.

“Hey,” he said, trying to put on a brave face. He’d seen his own expression in the bathroom mirror; he’d looked better when he was an addict. “Anything going on?”

“Just waiting for you,” Kent replied neutrally, feeding another two dollars into the machine and not looking at Jack.

Jack nodded silently, not sure what else to say. Kent was still not looking at him, instead concentrating on retrieving another stuffed animal, so Jack turned away from him and left him to it, leaning against one side of the machine. For the first time since he’d climbed into the Audi, he decided to check his texts. There were several awaiting him; most were from Bitty. Jack purposefully averted his eyes, not wanting to deal with his boyfriend’s neediness right now. The other one was from his mom, letting him know that she and his dad were having dinner out with friends and wouldn’t be home until late but that he and Kent were both welcome to stay in the house. She was leaving a dinner for them both in the fridge.

Something low in Jack’s gut twisted at the reminder that everyone was expecting them to be divorced by dinnertime. 

A soft plunk emitted from the machine; Kent had succeeded in winning another plush toy, only this time, there was no one to give it to.

Giving someone things. Jack couldn’t help a slight pang of guilt when he saw that he had twelve unread texts waiting for him from Bitty, zero of which he was in any place to read right now. While Jack knew it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t, he still couldn’t help but feel an obligation to show some token of affection for Bitty. Maybe he should get him something. There was a large gift shop several paces away, after all.

Kent stooped down to grab his prize, glancing at Jack for the first time since he’d walked over to him. “You good? We can wait here if you’re still sick, but we’ve got to get going if we want to get to the office before it closes.”

The Hockey Canada office. Where he would divorce Kent for good. Where he would divorce Kent so he could be with Bitty. Which was what he wanted. Or he thought he wanted.

Instead of answering Kent’s question, Jack found himself asking a new one. “Do you think I should get something for Bitty?”

Kent blinked, staring at Jack, his face baffled. “Excuse me?” His tone was one of flat disbelief.

“You know, like a souvenir or something. A gift,” Jack clarified. 

For a long moment, Kent closed his eyes, his fists clenching and unclenching. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he opened his eyes again to look hard at Jack. 

“Just to make sure I’ve got this right,” he said, his voice calm but sounding somewhat forced. “You are asking me, your current husband, who you are divorcing so you can be with your current boyfriend, what kind of gift you should buy for said boyfriend while on your trip to divorce me? What, you couldn’t let the occasion pass on by without getting some kind of memento to mark the occasion?”

Jack couldn’t see why Kent seemed so upset. “I mean, I just want to get him something nice.”

Kent shook his head and gave a short laugh, reaching down to grab the toy that he’d won. “Jack, for all I care, once we’re finished filing the divorce papers, you can drive over to Lake Memphremagog, hunt up Memphre, and then drag its carcass back to Massachusetts to give to Bittle. Better yet, here.” He shoved the plush toy at Jack. “Save yourself the trouble and give him this.” With that, he stalked off toward the exit.

Uncertain how to react to Kent’s outburst, Jack watched him go for a moment before looking down at the squashy stuffed animal in his hands. It was a moose wearing a shirt with the Maple Leaf on it—not  Komack, just a regular moose. Jack supposed it looked like a nice moose.

Unsure what to do with the item, Jack briefly scanned the area, trying to see if there was nearby family whose kids might like it, but he almost instantly gave up on the idea. He hated talking to people, especially strangers, and didn’t want to endure the anxiety of approaching one.

Instead, he kept the moose and took off after Kent, catching up to him just as he arrived at the parking space with their Audi.

Kent was back to not looking at him. “Get in. It’s almost four-thirty, but we can still make it to the Hockey Canada office before they close for the day. I’m sure you’re looking forward to it.”

“I’m not.” The words flew out of Jack’s mouth before he even considered speaking them, and he found himself torn between scolding himself for revealing so much and being proud of his honesty.

However, Kent seemed decidedly unimpressed. “Whatever, Jack. Listen, I’m just about done with your little mind games for the day. So I’m asking that you just shut up until we walk through the door of that office.”

The same panic and uncertainty began rising within Jack as Kent mentioned the divorce that loomed in their immediate future, and he came to a conclusion: he couldn’t let the divorce happen. Not now, not when he wasn’t sure anymore that it was what he wanted.

So he gathered his courage and admitted the truth to Kent. “I don’t want to go through with the divorce.”

Kent was in the middle of of opening the driver’s side door, and he paused with it halfway ajar. “ _ What. _ ” The way he spat out the word made it seem less like a question than a curse. He turned to stare at Jack, ferocity in his gaze. “You better just be jerking my chain, Zimms. Because you didn’t just drag me across my own country and into your country so we could finally get rid of each other only for you to decide it’s not what you want. You _ didn’t. _ ”

Jack wasn’t sure what to say.

“You didn’t,” Ken repeated, his voice begging. “Tell me that . . . oh, for  _ fuck’s _ sake!” He slammed his hand down onto the roof of the car. “You totally fucking did!”

If nothing else, Jack felt compelled to defend himself. “I really don’t know if I want to divorce you,” he tried to explain honestly. “And if I don’t want to divorce you, I don’t think we should get a divorce.” Couldn’t Kent see that?

Kent sent him a look of pure disgust. “As usual. It’s all about you.  _ You _ don’t want a divorce. And  _ you  _ can’t even be bothered to call me and let me know. Then you  _ do _ want a divorce. Now you  _ don’t  _ again. Oh, and  _ you  _ never even considered that I might be the one to find you after your overdose. Because God forbid you think of anyone else!” He threw his hands up into the air in utter exasperation. 

Distinct annoyed at Kent’s continued harping on the overdose, Jack wasn’t going to let him have the last word. “ _ I’m _ self-centered? Who’s the one making my drug problem all about himself?”

Kent’s expression made a nuclear winter look like a warm summer day. “You. Are. An.  _ Asshole _ ,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “And you know what? Fuck you. I’m tired of playing nice. I don’t give a  _ fuck _ anymore if you want to play hockey in the US. I’m divorcing you anyway. And I hope you like red tape, because it’s going to keep you too tangled up to play for any NHL team.”

“Fine,” Jack replied, not even sure if he actually believed Kent. He hadn’t divorced him for the past four and half years, after all. Besides, he was just relieved he managed to delay the divorce for right now. He could worry about the future later. Tomorrow, after he went home and got some rest. Except . . . he grimaced. Bitty would probably pester him about not going through with the divorce. 

There was a jingle of keys, and Jack was torn out of his thoughts as he realized Kent was offering him the keys to the Audi, his arm extended across the roof of the car.

“Take them,” Kent ordered him in a tone somewhere far beyond caring. “Drive us wherever you want. We’d probably just end up there anyway.”

Jack didn’t particularly want to drive, but he had a feeling they’d both get stuck here if he didn’t, so he accepted the keys. “You want to go anywhere in particular?” he asked, feeling like he should. That “asshole” comment kind of stung the more he thought about it, and he wanted to prove Kent otherwise.

Kent snorted as he walked around to the other side of the car, brushing past Jack as he went to sit in the passenger seat. “Yeah. The Grand Canyon. I want you to pull a  _ Thelma and Louise  _ and drive us both over the edge of a cliff.”

* * *

No matter what his mood or what seemingly insurmountable problem he was facing, Jack had always loved their home in Montreal. It was large, with plenty of space to spread out comfortably both inside and outside the house, and always felt like a refuge and an escape from the rest of the world. Best of all, it was very private, located in an exclusive neighborhood, and set far back from the road with an extensive driveway.

And if there was ever a time Jack needed some peace, it was was now.

It wasn’t like he needed the quiet. Kent wasn’t speaking to him and had only broken the silence between them to let him know that instead of going to spend the night at a hotel, he would be spending it at the house. He’d looked really tired when he’d said it.

“I always thought you were going to spend the night at the house with us,” Jack had told him, slightly confused. “I mean, my parents had offered.”

“Jack,” Kent said, his voice thoroughly annoyed. “Can you think of, I don’t know, maybe a reason or two that a recent divorcée might not want to spend the night at the home of his former partner and parents? I mean, given that they had just been divorced that very afternoon?”

Jack hadn’t answered him, and the rest of the drive and then their arrival at the house had persisted in silence. Like Alicia had said earlier, she and Bob were both out, but even with the house empty, its familiar interior, with its thick, richly-colored carpets and warm lighting and glossy hardwoods, seemed just as warm and welcoming as ever. It was all what Jack knew, with no questions to be answered or uncertainty to cope with.

The first order of business for him was checking the fridge. True to Alicia’s word, he found a large tray of lasagna awaiting himself and Kent. 

“Hey, there’s food,” he said to Kent, who was sipping a glass of water by the sink, the last of the evening light streaming in through the window and gleaming on his blond hair. “If you want anything, I mean.”

“I don’t,” Kent said emotionlessly. He set down his glass. “I’m going outside.”

Jack shrugged and occupied himself with cutting a large slice of lasagna, trying to tell himself that the guilt beginning to gnaw away at his stomach was actually just hunger. “Suit yourself.”

Kent exited via the patio door, and Jack popped the lasagna in the microwave for a few minutes, leaning against the marble counter as he did and simply taking a moment to be glad he was out of the car. He didn’t think driving home tomorrow with Kent would be a good idea. Kent might not even want to drive with him at this point. Maybe he should rent a car himself.

When the microwave beeped and Jack removed his dinner, he didn’t hesitate before sitting down at the cherrywood table and chowing down, only pausing to retrieve a glass of water when the forkfuls of lasagna began sticking in his throat. But as he neared the last few bites and his pace slowed, he had the strange sensation of a pair of eyes lingering on him, and a quick glance around the kitchen found his gaze landing on the moose plushie Kent had given him. He’d set it down on top of the table when he’d walked inside.

Contemplating the moose as he shoved the last of his lasagna into his mouth, Jack caught himself glancing between the toy and the sliding glass door where Kent had exited. It was getting dark, which meant that it would be getting cold. And as far as Jack knew, Kent hadn’t eaten anything since their lunch much earlier.

Maybe Jack should take him something.

But Kent didn’t want to eat, Jack argued with himself. If he had, he would have taken some lasagna for himself before going outside.

Fairly convinced of his logic and determined that there was nothing else he was obligated to do, Jack leaned back into the tufted cushion of his chair. He’d always enjoyed the kitchen chairs; they were the perfect blend of supportive yet comfortable. It was nice to have the chance to relax into one of them after a long day.

Except that Jack couldn’t relax. Because he couldn’t shake the ridiculous notion that the moose plushie was staring at him in judgement, just like Kent had stared at him numerous times today. And Jack knew it was beyond idiotic to think that a stuffed animal could have feelings—how many times had he scoffed at Bitty and his stupid Senor Bun, after all? But every time he glanced at the moose, he was reminded that he was inside in the warm kitchen while Kent was out alone in the cold and dark.

Jack glanced out the window and sighed. “Damn it.”   

Forcing himself into action, he cut two more generous portions of lasagna, another for himself and a fresh one for Kent, and then he grabbed two forks and two water bottles before slipping on his coat and going outside.

Their home patio was both extensive and elaborate, with multiple tiers, each with their own open gazebo, and a home mini bar and grilling station. In the summertime, all sorts of climbing vines and flowers would wind around the arbors on the bottom level, forming dense blankets of life and color. Kent had always gotten a kick out of it; Jack didn’t think that whatever shanty he’d lived in as a kid had much of a backyard.

And Kent had always liked the detached porch that was down by the huge pond at the far end of the yard. When he’d billeted with them, he’d liked to take his lunch and breakfast and eat down there if it was warm enough, often corralling Jack into coming with him. For his birthday that summer before the draft, Jack and his parents had fixed a barbecue dinner with all the fixings and they’d all eaten it together there. 

If there was any place Kent was likely to be, Jack knew, it was there. And as he reached the porch, and could just barely discern Kent’s outline through the inky blackness, he couldn’t help but feel proud that he’d finally managed to remember something right about Kent.

Kent didn’t acknowledge his approach, not even turning to look at him, so Jack spoke first.

“Brought you some dinner,” he offered, deciding to try to use the food as a peace offering. He set down the items on the wicker table in front of the loveseat where Kent was sitting, and then he sat down next to Kent. In all honesty, he would have preferred to sit in one of the other chairs, keep some distance between the two of them, but something in him was nagging at him to get Kent to pay attention to him. So he huddled into his coat, glad that it was more windy than actually chilly, the cold of night not yet fully set in, and started on his second helping of lasagna.

Kent was silent and didn’t move beyond covering his eyes with one hand. The light was almost too dim to see that he had moved at all.

“It’s lasagna,” Jack supplied, realizing Kent might not be able to tell in the dark.  

“Jack.” Kent spoke his name almost entirely without emotion, and it was startling to hear. There was always some kind of strong feeling—anger, exasperation, irritation, disbelief—whenever he said Jack’s name these days. “Why won’t you divorce me?”

The question caught Jack off-guard, and he refrained from taking his next bite, instead lowering his fork. He wasn’t expecting the question, but within seconds, he realized that he probably should have. He supposed it was natural for Kent to wonder about that right now.

“I . . .” Jack wasn’t sure what to say, but as he watched Kent the best he could through the dark, he was filled by the urge to simply be honest. And maybe it was because he was tired, or because he was still thinking of all the ways Kent was still holding onto the memories of the two of them, but he decided that perhaps honesty was the best route.

“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “It was just a really weird day. I set out this morning sure that I wanted to divorce you so I could prove to Bitty that I loved him. But after spending so much time with you . . . I don’t know. I don’t think it’s what I want. And I just wound up remembering all the things we used to do together that I’d totally forgotten. We had a song. We used to get stranded on back roads together and have to wait for help. We did those goofy photos at the photo booth—yeah, I saw those. You still have them in your wallet. And if you’re still holding onto all of that. . . then maybe I should be, too.”

When he finished, Jack was expecting some kind of reply from Kent. However, there was none.

Jack tried to prod him into a response. “So, ummm . . . why did you want to divorce me?”

“What makes you think I did?” At last, there was some kind of emotion in Kent’s voice: fierce undercurrents of anger.

The question made Jack incredulous. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been asking for a divorce since I started university.”

“Because you wouldn’t call me,” Kent retorted, the anger in his voice increasing to fury. “I couldn’t keep hanging around forever, waiting to know how you felt about me. You weren’t speaking to me. You were ignoring all of my calls. I couldn’t keep existing in limbo, wondering if your OD was my fault, if you blamed me, if you hated me for it. I wanted an answer. I wanted to know if I should be moving on with my life or if you wanted me to stick around. I figured that asking you for a divorce would either convince you to pick up the phone next time I called so you could finally tell me just what the hell was going on with you or at least set me free from you. Of course—” bitterness laced his voice. “—we both now know that it did neither.”   

The revelations from Kent’s declaration left Jack reeling, and he struggled to make sense of what had been said. “Wait a minute. Why would I blame you for my overdose?”

This time, he did get a reaction from Kent: he whipped his head around to stare at Jack, and in the dim light of the moon, the shining trails from tears running down his cheeks were just barely discernible.

“Because we were married!” he almost shouted, his voice tight with unshed tears. “Because we were goddamn married, and you left me to twist in the wind for almost five entire years and wonder if you wanted to kill yourself because I wasn’t enough for you!”

Jack sat there, stunned, as Kent continued, a flood of emotions suddenly pouring from him.

“Didn’t you ever once think of how I might have felt about you almost dying, Jack? That you were trying to kill yourself? Didn’t it ever occur to you that your husband might have had some feelings on the matter and would’ve have like to, you know, talk about them with you? Did you even spare me a thought that whole time?” Kent’s voice cracked, and he had to swallow several times before he could speak again. “It never did, did it? Because you’re so goddamn  _ selfish _ that you never, not  _ ever, _ consider how someone else is feeling. Meanwhile, I was so stupid and determined to do the right thing by you that I never went ahead with the divorce because I knew it would damage your chances of playing in the NHL, and I didn’t know if you still wanted to, but I wanted to give you the chance. But you know what? I shouldn’t have even fucking bothered. I should have just done things the Jack Zimmermann way and done whatever the hell I wanted, fuck the consequences, and fuck whoever gets hurt.”

Silence rang out between them when Kent concluded his outburst, and his breathing was noticeably ragged afterward. He clearly working to attempt to compose himself again.

Never good at words or with people on a regular basis, Jack was at a loss what to say. Because, it dawned on him, a faintly sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, everything that Kent had said was true. Even putting aside his overdose and the issues that had led up to it, he had been selfish to refuse all contact with Kent. It had been demeaning for him to ignore all of Kent’s attempts to divorce him. He’d been incredibly self-absorbed this entire time to think that Kent hadn’t been affected by his overdose, that Kent had gotten off scot-free. 

Kent had been damaged by the overdose just as much as Jack had. Jack just hadn’t the self-awareness to recognize it until now.

So Jack did the only thing that he could: apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he told him sincerely. “About everything. About ignoring your calls, ignoring you when you came to visit, about not ever getting back to you about the divorce. I’m sorry for dragging you out here with the promise of divorcing you only to decide not to divorce you after all. But what I’m most sorry for is the overdose. I never meant to make it feel like it was your fault, Kenny, because it wasn’t. It was all me and my issues. I was happy in my marriage to you. I did love you. And I really,  _ really _ missed you afterward, when we were apart. But I guess . . . I  guess I had myself convinced somehow that you were better off without me and that you’d get over me. So I didn’t feel like I ever needed to continue any kind of relationship with you, or that I should explain myself to you. But now I can see that I should have. That I owed you an explanation and an apology. And I’m so sorry for not giving that to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t reach out to you when you needed me.”

For a very long moment, Kent said nothing. Then, finally, he drew in a deep, steadying breath and asked, “What do you want from me, Jack?”

“Well, I’d—” A certain truth was welling inside of Jack, urging him to reveal it to Kent, but he wasn’t sure if it was worth taking the risk. “I—you see—” Caught by indecision, he wasn’t sure what to do. But then, he reasoned, he might as well not hide anything. After all, it wasn’t like Kent didn’t already have good reason to dislike him.

“I want to have another chance with you,” Jack admitted. Rushing to make his point before Kent could cut him off, his thoughts tumbled out in an unorganized tangle. “I know I don’t really deserve another chance, not after how badly I’ve treated you. And I know it’s a weird thing to ask for after five years of having a marriage and not really trying at that. But after everything you’ve done for me today, with the chicken nuggets, and everything you did before, like pretending you couldn’t change a tire, I think I’d forgotten what you’d meant to me. I’d forgotten your eye color and our song, but you? You remembered. You remembered because you love me, and I . . . I want to be able to love someone like that. Love you how you love me.” 

Jack’s heart was pounding in his chest. He knew he might be making a fool out of himself, but he also knew that this moment might be his only chance to convince Kent to give their marriage another shot. “I want a relationship with you. A real one. I want to be married to you and remember the important things like you do. And I know I’m not good at that. I’m not good with people. But you are, with the way you so easily introduce yourself and talk to them, with the way you helped those kids today without even thinking about it. When I’m with you, I want to be better at that. To learn and to change and to be different and better. No one else makes me feel that way. No one makes me want to try to be more than what I am. So, really . . .” Jack gave a shrug, unsure how to bring his speech to a conclusion. “That’s, uh, that’s really why I think you might be the one. You make me want to make an effort.”

Kent snorted at that, but he sounded less angry or despairing that actually amused. “So, I bring out the best in you, huh? I suppose I should give myself some credit. I make you want to give a damn about me. That’s quite the accomplishment.”

“I already do give a damn about you,” Jack replied adamantly, somewhat encouraged that Kent didn’t immediately dash his hopes. “I didn’t before, and I admit that. But if there was ever a chance for me to prove that now I do, I’d take it without even thinking about it.”

The next few moments were very tense as Jack waited in anticipation to see what Kent would say, while Kent seemed to be mulling it over.

“What the hell,” Kent eventually said, a hint of wry humor in his voice. “I’ve already been married to you for five years. What’s a little bit longer?”

Jack held his breath. “You’re really giving me another chance?”

“A six-month trial period,” Kent confirmed, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “To see if we both still work together as a couple. If we’re still good for each other. And at the end, even if we find out that we aren’t anymore, at least we both tried this time.”

A grin spread across Jack’s face as happiness bloomed within him. He’d gotten Kent back, at least for now. Kent was willing to take a risk on him. And Jack knew he really hadn't done anything to earn Kent’s faith in him, but he was grateful for it all the same.

“Thank you,” he said, and, on a rare impulse, he set aside his bowl and pulled Kent into a hug, loving the feeling of Kent’s lean, strong form in his arms and wondering why he’d deprived himself of it for so long. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

Kent chuckled, relief in his voice. “Yeah, well, I look forward to not needing to.”

For several minutes they remained as they were, clinging onto each other, before another gust of wind blew, this time bringing the cooler night temperatures with it, and Jack decided they should head inside.

“C’mon,” he said, standing and tugging Kent up with him. “Let’s go back to the house. We can light a fire and figure out what to tell my parents when they get back.”

“I seem to remember you once had a particular fondness for fires,” Kent remarked slyly, as he gathered up both bowls and water bottles.

“I do,” Jack replied, his face heating slightly as he remembered the nights the two of them had spent before the fire, Kent writhing in ecstasy beneath him. “I’d be more than happy to show you just how enthusiastic I still am, actually.”

“I’d like that,” Kent told him, leaning in close to Jack as they began walking back to the house. “But you have a call you need to make first, don’t you?”

“What? Oh.” Jack dug into his pocket and extracted his phone. “That’s right.”

Scrolling to Bitty’s number, he hit the button to call him and waited. As usual, Bitty picked up on the first ring. 

“Hey, Bitty? Yeah, it’s me.” Jack put an arm around Kent’s shoulders, pulling him close. “I’ve got something I need to tell you.”  


End file.
